The Night of the Shipwreck
by Andamogirl
Summary: This story takes place before the tag of TNOT Bottomless Pit. Missing scenes. James West's and Artemus Gordon's perilous adventures somewhere in the South Atlantic Ocean after the shipwreck of the ship bringing them back to the USA.
1. Part One

**THE NIGHT OF THE SHIPWRECK**

 **By Andamogirl**

Author's notes: Season 2.

This story takes place before the tag of TNOT Bottomless Pit.

Reference to TNOT Bottomless Pit.

References to my story TNOT First Mission.

Gift-Story written for Tripidydoodah.

Many thanks to my beta reader Tripidydoodah.

 _Gustave_ _: All in all, this is one of the worst service records I've ever seen. It's a testimony to your treachery, cowardice, cruelty, and dishonesty. You should do well here._

 _Artie_ _ **:**_ _James, my boy, you'll never guess who we have approaching from outside this very minute.  
_ _Jim_ _ **:**_ _Give me a clue, Artie. Animal, mineral, or vegetable?  
_ _Artie_ _ **:**_ _Well, think of silk, satins, laces, uh, tassels. Blonde hair.  
_ _Jim_ _: Well, that could be almost anyone.  
_ _Artie_ _: How about a feather boa?  
_ _Jim_ _ **:**_ _Camille.  
_ _Artie_ _ **:**_ _Right._

TNOT Bottomless Pit.

WWW

 **PART ONE**

 _On the open sea_

Leaning up against the railing of the _SS Virginia_ , a merchant and steam auxiliary ship, (a vessel with a steam engine, but also rigged as a sailing vessel), rocking gently on the waves, James West was looking at the line of the horizon, enjoying a very good, long, and big cigar - offered him by the Captain - along with the soft sounds of waves hitting the bow, mixed with the creaking of wood.

He felt a sudden presence at his back, recognized his partner's way of walking, and smiled. "Good evening, Artie. I'm surprised to find you here. I thought that you were with Camille…"

Smiling, Artemus Gordon joined his partner and leant on the railing. "I should have changed my way of walking to surprise you…" He was holding a mug of steaming brandy (80%) and coffee (20%), one of his many guilty pleasures. "No, Camille is dining 'en tête-à-tête' with the Captain, in his cabin. I was taking a tour of the ship with Lieutenant Morrison and I spent quite some time in discussion with the engineer. He explained to me how the screw-propeller mechanism of propulsion and the steam engine work. It's really fascinating!" He had stars of excitement shining in his chocolate eyes. "He'll let me help him tomorrow."

Dropping ash overboard, Jim smiled, knowing his best friend's fascination for anything mechanical… for anything, full stop. "I'm happy for you, buddy."

Turning the mug in his hands, Artemus noted, "James, my boy, you don't look green anymore, just your eyes are still green, but it's normal. Is your seasickness gone?"

Jim nodded and puffed on the cigar once more, releasing the blue smoke in front of him. "Yes, it's gone. The ship's doctor gave me one spoonful of his awful anti-vomiting mixture. It was so revolting that I almost vomited at his feet after that." Amused, he chuckled. "And I feel fine, Artie."

Artie, took a sip of his beverage and using his other hand, he pointed at the burgeoning and grouping clouds, low and menacing, forming a huge cloudbank spreading on the horizon, blocking the sunset. "There's a storm coming," he said to his best friend, frowning in alarm. At the same time the wind picked up, hot and humid and the rigging above them groaned. "But we are on the outer fringes of it. Let's hope we outpace it… if not, that tempest will hit the _Virginia_ in a matter of hours, and serious problems will result. I was a sailor, when I was a young man and I know what it's like to be caught in a storm… it's terrifying. At each moment you think that you are going to die."

Before taking a drag on the cigar again, Jim placed a friendly hand on Artie's arm, gave it two small taps, smiled, and said, "Thanks Artie, I feel _so_ reassured."

But Artie didn't smile. He knew what a storm was capable of. He had almost drowned several times on board different ships, during storms.

Two hours later the _SS Virginia_ was caught in the tempest.

WWW

 _Much later_

 _Somewhere on an island…_

 _Day one after the shipwreck_

Soaked to the skin, James West woke with a start at the loud clap of thunder, the dark sky being lit up by a bright flash of lightning overhead. He blinked lazily for a few seconds, not understanding where he even was… It took him a bit to register the sound of ocean waves rushing back and forth and seagull's screams.

He moved groggily on his knees and sat up on the wet sand. He glanced around him, at the rocky bay, confused and disoriented. What the hell was he doing on a beach? The last thing he remembered was…" He blinked twice. "was…" he didn't remember.

But he was sure of one thing, strangely, that he shouldn't be on a beach, he thought.

He touched the side of his aching head and found a bump there. He winced. Was a concussion responsible for his amnesia? How did he hit his head? When? Where? He asked himself – and of course, he couldn't find any response.

Jim shivered, as scattering rain started falling from dark menacing clouds. Water was dripping into his eyes, running along his muscular body, making his hands stiff, and feet numb from the cold.

Thunder cracked in the distance and l _ightning slashed across apocalyptic sky._ A monstrous tempest was on its way here, he thought with a bit of apprehension.

Pulling himself upright, Jim winced, the cold and foamy water of the breaking waves submerging his legs up to his calves.

He quickly surveyed his body to see if he was hurt, but he didn't see any injury on his half-naked body, just a large collection of bruises. He noticed that he was just wearing his white – waterlogged and sand-filled - underpants… and too, that he had a rope attached around his chest.

He furrowed his brow, puzzled. The other end of the rope was bobbing in the foam-covered water… His frown deepened as he remembered something. No, someone. His partner had tied the other end of the rope around his waist…

A sudden cold shiver went up Jim's spine and the hair on his neck stood on end. "The rope, the rope, oh no! The rope, Artie!"

In a flash he remembered everything: they had left Devil's Island, the penal colony of Cayenne (French Guiana) on board the _SS Virginia_.

The next evening, the screw-propeller steamship had been caught in a huge tempest in the middle of the night, off the coast of Brazil, en route to New York.

The main mast had been hit by a bolt of lightning, and had collapsed on the upper deck.

Fire had spread rapidly and the steam engine room had exploded a few minutes later, killing dozens of people and injuring a lot more.

He closed his eyes as screams of pain and terror echoed in his mind. He could even feel the intense heat as a raging fire devoured the ship, and crew members.

Abruptly woken in the middle of the night, Artie and he had rushed to the upper deck, half-naked to help. But it was already too late.

The _SS Virginia_ had been broken in two parts, the front part sinking in a matter of minutes.

Standing on the stern of the ship, they had heard the panicked Captain howl, 'all hands abandon ship'. Artie had said, "Camille, we have to find her," but a gigantic wave had decided otherwise, hitting what was left of the hull of the steam auxiliary ship sideways.

They were thrown overboard into the black, demented ocean.

They had found a rope, floating, and had tied it around their waists, to stay together – just before the rest of the ship sank.

They had heard, in the distance the faint squeals of seagulls in the howling wind. There was a shore somewhere – thus hope to stay alive.

They had found refuge on a heap of boards, clinging tightly to them, tossed in all directions by huge roiling waves, waves which crashed over the badly burnt corpses floating all around, submerging them, and the current had taken them away from that deathly chaos.

Much later, near the white-ish outline of an island, their makeshift raft had violently hit one of the craggy rocks of a reef. Artemus had been thrown into the turbulent water... and following the impact, the rope had broken. Artie had been pulled and sucked under the water by whirlpools and he had disappeared in the dark, black, swirling water rolling over him.

He had heard Artie scream in pain as waves crashed around him, then nothing. He had hit a rock in his turn, tossed there by a huge wave that towered over him, and everything went black – and he automatically touched the pounding bump on the side of his head.

His temporary amnesia was gone, now.

Re-opening his eyes, he took deep, calming breaths.

He couldn't let himself panic. Artie wasn't dead. He was invincible. He had to be alive and was somewhere here, and he would find him, the thought.

He started running along the immense white-sand beach, lined with palm trees and dense and lush vegetation, calling, "Artie! Artie!" slaloming between the black rocks and the heaps of seaweed and lines of seashells, and miscellaneous charred debris coming from the sunken ship – the rope still attached around his waist, meandering on the sand behind him.

He ran for miles, under torrential downpours, his heart filled with hope, barely seeing a thing, before finding footprints on the sand.

He followed them through a group of rocks polished by the wind and the rain and, shortly after, he spotted Artemus leant against the trunk of a palm tree, which was bending under the weight of plenty of coconuts, offering relative protection him from the heavy rain.

His breath caught in his throat. "Artie!" He beamed. "You're alive! I knew it!" He rushed over and sank to his knees on the cold sand, beside his very wet partner, whose dark curls were plastered to his forehead. He noticed then that his eyes were closed, his lips parted and his face frozen in a grimace of intense pain. "Artie?" He gasped seeing blood on his right side, coming from a deep cut on his hip, placed just above the waistband of his short, black underpants,. "Artie?" He shook Artemus's shoulders and the older man sluggishly opened his gentle chocolate eyes. "Artie, wake up!"

Blinking groggily, Artemus Gordon looked up at the younger man, completely drenched from head to toe, his underpants soaked trough and hair slicked to his forehead, and he chuckled at his partner's appearance, and then he grinned. "Boy! It's so good to see you, Jim!" He struggled to sit up and pressed Jim's shoulder with affection, tears springing to his eyes with intense emotion. "You're here! I was sure you weren't dead. You're like me, James-my-boy, you're indestructible." He placed his left hand on his wound, winced and groaned. "Ow! I'm hurt. I hit the serrated edge of a rock after I was thrown in the water, near the coast, among razor-sharp reef… Its sharp edges cut deep through my hip… after that I lost consciousness. I woke up on the beach at dawn… and I laboriously dragged _my old self_ here, to be sheltered from the rain, but only partially," he explained. "That explains why I look like a drowned cat – and you too, my good friend." He grimaced. "Oh boy, it hurts."

Concerned, Jim touched Artie's clammy forehead, noticing his unhealthy pallor. "Maybe there's a doctor, somewhere …"

Shaking his head Artie breathed, "No, there's not. When the ship sank, we were too far away from the coast of Brazil to have reached it in a few hours… But there's some small isolated volcanic islands scattered within several hundred nautical miles of it… I think we are stranded on one of them – so no doctors in the vicinity, Jim, I'm afraid." He closed his weary eyes again, exhausted and in pain. "Any other survivors? Did you see other people?" he asked.

Looking at the huge, looming tempest, Jim shook his head. "I didn't see anyone else on the beach but you, but this island is big… There's a storm approaching, it won't be prudent to tour the island." He looked around him and said, "I'm going to see if I can find a place where we will be safe."

His head dropping to his bare chest, Artie mumbled, "'kay, not g'ing an'where." A buzz had filled his head and he felt like he weighted tons. He knew what it meant.

A split second later he was fast unconscious.

Jim headed into the thick, dense undergrowth as the thunder roared, trying to remove the rope from his waist as the water had tightened the knot.

He finally succeeded.

WWW

 _Later_

The loud clacking of thunder woke Artemus in a start a few minutes later. He propped himself on his elbows and immediately regretted it.

He cried out in pain, slumped to the ground and curled up on himself, on his good side. "Oh boy!" That hurts!" he grunted, jaws clenched.

Jim moved to his best friend's side in a flash, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, we're safe. Don't move, okay?"

But Artie rolled on his back and stayed like that, lying on cold ground, eyes tight shut, gritting his teeth waiting for the pain to go.

But it didn't, it just slowly became bearable.

He glanced around him. Jim and he were sheltered from the strong tempest in a small, dark, damp cave. A big hole placed in the wall allowed people to come and go, he noticed.

He was surprised to spot the remains of a table and chairs, and dozens of very old rum bottles. "A pirate cave or the place of a castaway? Both, perhaps." Further, on the right he spotted piles of human bones and two skulls and pieces of non-identifiable ragged clothes hanging around them. "Charming. Two people, and they died here. Bad omen you think?"

Jim nodded, "I'm not superstitious. We won't die here, Artie."

Back in optimistic mode, Artie smiled. "Of course. What happened?"

Jim sat crossed-legged. "I found an ancient path made with big stones leading to one of the cliffs. I just followed it, with you over my shoulder, passed out. It's not a palace, but we're safe here. There's a very big tempest outside." He touched Artie's brow finding it burning. "You have a high fever, your wound is infected…" he added, very concerned and feeling totally helpless. "Are you thirsty buddy?"

Giving Jim a weak smile, the older man said, "Are you proposing me old rum, Jim? Because I could use a sip or two, to give me a boost…"

Jim shook his head. "No, I was thinking filling a bottle or two with some rain, somehow… Snapping his fingers Jim exclaimed, "Yes, the bottles!"

He rushed toward a group of bottles lying in the sand and started shaking them, one after the others. Then he said, "Ah! Found it!" Holding one, he came back beside his partner and uncorked it using his teeth. "There's still rum in that one… it's almost full." He sniffed at the strong alcohol and grimaced. "I wouldn't drink that, but it's perfect to clean the wound… brace yourself, Artie, it's going to sting a little… "He rolled Artie on his non-injured side and observed the wound. The cut is deep, but short and the edges are jagged. Cringing, he poured the rum liberally the wound. He cringed when he heard Artie scream as the brown liquid seep inside the deep cut and stopped when Artie began thrashing. "I'm sorry…"

Gasping, tears flooding his face, Artie grabbed Jim's arm. "It's okay… now you need to rub it inside, evacuate the blood…"

Hesitating first, Jim wiped the sand from his hands on his pair of white underpants and repeated, "I'm sorry," and complied, pouring alcohol again in the deep cut, using his fingers to massage the rum inside the wound, to disinfect it and remove the clotted blood.

Burying his face in his hands, panting and trembling, after a few seconds it was too much for Artemus, and he passed out.

WWW

 _Later_

It was the middle of the night when Artemus woke up in a start again, when lighting fell somewhere in the island. He found himself in Jim's lap, in his arms.

He shivered. "I'm cold." And Jim wrapped his arms tighter around his chest. He frowned; the storm was still raging outside: the wind howled and violent gusts of wind charged with rain came through the mouth of the cave. The cave was filled with sounds of things moving, breaking, falling, and the terrifying sound of the gigantic and wild waves crashing on the island.

It was pitch black in the cave, but it didn't stay like that more than a couple of seconds as llightning was almost constantly flashing in the sky. "It looks like the end of the world outside…"

Jim nodded. "Or something very close, like the Deluge… I hope survivors, if survivors there are; found a shelter like us, otherwise…"

Nestled against Jim's warmth, Artie closed his eyes and a couple of seconds later; he was asleep, feeling safe and warm.

Fatigued too, Jim fell off to sleep in his turn.

WWW

 _Day two after the shipwreck_

 _The next morning_

Birds singing.

Opening his eyes, Jim heard birds singing. The tempest was gone – and so was Artie, he realized. He stood and headed toward the mouth of the cave. "Artie?"

Once outside, he followed the footprints Artie had left behind him, in the damp sand, and arrived on the beach a half an hour later. Fallen trees, unrooted by the huge tempest and big broken branches had transformed the path into an obstacle course that slowed him down.

Bare feet digging deep in the warm sand, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the bright light, he stared out at the vast, deep, blue ocean and at the immense lighter blue sky just above. The sun was shining and it wasn't too hot thanks to a light breeze. The waves lapped gently at the powder white sand and further, were pounding at the rocks, before curling around them, wrapping them in foam. Noisy seagulls screeched above his head whirling in the salty air.

He found Artie there; or rather found him in the water, knee-high, holding a makeshift harpoon. Jim spotted two dozen different fish lying on a nearby rounded rock, on the left.

He saw too, that his partner had made a pile of the things that had come from the _SS Virginia_ he had found on the beach , brought in by the tempest.

Admiring the extraordinary resilience of his best friend, Jim joined the older man, crossing the beach, walking on already hot and loose, soft sand.

He entered the light blue, almost turquoise and transparent water, up to his calves and noticed that his nose and broad shoulders were bright pink with sunburn. The rest of his fair skin was intact – for now, he thought. "You have been very busy while I was still sleeping, I see," he said, with a broad smile. Then his eyebrows knitted together in both concern and reproach and he waved a stern finger. "You shouldn't have. You're injured, Artemus. I could have done that."

Smiling, with a third colored fish harpooned at the end of his improvised harpoon, Artie joined his partner on the beach. "You know me, I can't stand doing nothing. I'm easily bored." He pointed at his wound neatly stitched. "It hurts, but the pain is bearable. I'm okay. I found a crate with many indispensable things – we're very lucky. Inside, I have found a box, on the beach, containing different types of hooks and fishing wire inside,among other things. It probably belonged to a sailor, and I used them to stitch my wound. The rum did miracles, it was completely disinfected." He saw Jim frown and added, "I know, you're probably wondering why I built a harpoon in lieu of a fishing rod, right?" He saw Jim nod, and explained, "It's more fun to fish that way." Then he grinned. "We won't die from hunger. There's plenty of fish here." He gestured toward the bay with a large movement. "As I came here first, I'm naming that bay, Gordon's Bay."

Grinning too, Jim looked around him: a seemingly endless white sand beach, turquoise water up to the line of the horizon, palm trees, luxuriant vegetation a little further away, black, craggy and barren cliffs and, even further… the dark mass of a volcano. And old-dead volcano covered with trees up to its summit. "It's your privilege, Artie. Okay for Gordon's Bay." He smiled. "Did you find a matchbox or two?"

Pulling the fish out from his harpoon, Artie shook his head. "No, I didn't, but I have found a knife, a spyglass, a magnifying glass, a stack of paper and a bottle of ink and a writing quill in another crate too, probably belonging to an officer … I'm going to use the magnifying glass and a piece of paper to start a fire with the help of the sun. We'll keep it 'alive' throwing pieces of wood on it, night and day – to cook and to signal our presence here to the ships sailing by." He patted Jim's shoulder. "What about some fish 'en papillotte' Jim, I mean wrapped in leaves? I'm buying." He chuckled. "You should go explore tide pools for crabs while I'm fishing, Jim, they're really delicious."

Spotting a crab walking sideways on the beach, Jim chuckled too. "I will. It's good to see you feeling better, Artie. I was really worried."

He glanced at the pile of different things. "Something else interesting?"

Artie nodded. "Yes, two hammocks for example."

WWW

 _Gordon's Bay, later_

Lying on a hammock attached between two palm trees, (with the rope formerly attached to Jim's waist), Artemus was taking a nap in the shade, sheltered from the blazing hot sun, lulled by the sound of gentle waves against the shore, the birds singing in the dense forest and the rustle of the wind in the large leaves on the palm trees. He was taking some much needed rest after what he went through, to regain some energy and at the same time, gently digesting plenty of grilled fish.

Sitting cross-legged on the sand, in the same shade, Jim was using the knife to make new harpoons. He wanted to fish too.

Picking up crabs along the shore line was no fun, he thought.

Hearing the beating of wings, he glanced at Artie and noticed a multicolored bird perched on one extremity of the hammock, its head cocked to the side, observing the human with curiosity.

He smiled. "It's the first time you,ve seen a human, right?" He asked. He giggled when the small bird flew briefly to land a split second later on Artemus's head. "I think Artie's just been adopted – well, that's not the first time. Arabella and Henrietta had adopted Artie, landing on his shoulders when he was riding his horse en route to San Francisco, before he adopted the two pigeons and trained them, he mused. "And now we have a small multicolored bird..."

Deeply asleep Artemus remained dead to the world when the bird started singing – probably saying, I have found a comfy nest.

Turning his head on the right, Jim glanced at the big bonfire burning on the beach stirred by a warm, gentle breeze, blowing salty air in from the ocean.

The large leaves he had picked up earlier in the forest generated dense smoke. It was perfect, he mused. He took the bottle of rum – now filled with cool water and took a long sip.

Still watching the blazing fire, he continued his musing: exploring the vicinity, he had discovered a cascade and a large pond, ending in a river running through the thick and lush greenery. First thing he had taken off his underpants, gritty with sand and stiffened with salt, and had dived into the clear, fresh water. He had cleaned himself the best way he could – he had sand everywhere, even in the most sensitive places - then, he had washed his underwear.

He had joined Artie on the beach and they had come back to the pond together. They had spent the rest of the morning there, talking, swimming, napping, wrestling and splashing and kicking water at each other, (water fights), like children, generally enjoying the coolness of the place and the numerous colored birds singing in the tall, all-shades-of-green, trees.

Fortunately they didn't see a single predator in the forest, just snakes which had kept their distance, but this didn't mean that the island didn't house dangerous beasts. In any case, they would not venture further on the island. It was safer to stay near the shore and especially on the beach, because from there they could watch the horizon in case a ship might pass by.

They could wait. They had everything they needed to survive – fish, crabs, coconuts, freshwater, a cave to shelter them in case a tempest came, hammocks to sleep in on the beach, a fire… They were stranded but relatively comfortable.

He glanced at Artemus, still sleeping soundly.

He smiled, remembering that Artie and he had swum in the ocean after that cool pause, even if a wound and salt water don't mix. It itched, it burnt, but Artemus didn't care. He wanted to have fun, that was all that mattered, and they had: they spent hours racing against each other, (he had won each time), and then they had fun jumping over the waves, diving under them, trying to catch colored fish without any success and held breath-holding contests – which Artie had won each time.

The multicolored bird was now walking on his partner's sun-stroked chest, exploring.

James smiled, took another long solid and thick branch and began to carve the end, transforming it into a redoubtable barbed spear, enjoying the ocean sounds. He decided he would make some skewers for grilling fish over the camp fire.

WWW

 _Later, at sunset_

Eating a last piece of grilled crab, Artie looked at the big bonfire lighting the starred night. "If there are ships sailing on the horizon, they should see it," he said.

Rubbing his itching, scruffy, jawline Jim replied, "Yes. No one could miss it. They'll come here, thinking people are stranded here, as this island is known as deserted."

Leaning against a polished rock, Artie stretched his long legs on the cooling sand, enjoying the combined noises of the breaking waves hitting the beach and the sparkling fire. It was so relaxing – and relaxing was quasi impossible as special agents of the Secret services, he mused. 'Always unto the breach'… "You know, I much prefer this island to the other one called Devil's Island. What do you think monsieur Couteau?"

Feeling sad, Jim nodded. "I agree with you, Monsieur Gaspar. And I won't regret the fire ants, but I have to admit, that's a creative way to kill people. I'm surprised that Loveless didn't think of it… maybe because it's not sophisticated enough for him." He sighed. "But I will Miss Camille, and Vincent didn't deserve that either, he had already experienced a lot of hardships. We didn't find anyone else this afternoon walking all the way around the island – it's smaller than I thought by the way. We're alone here, Artie. Poor Camille is dead, and so is everyone else." He threw a handful of branches on the camp fire.

Looking at the vastness of the ocean that glittered in the fading light, Artie shook his head. "Maybe not, Jim. There are other islands like this around here. We can't see them, even with the spyglass – I tried - because they're far from here. Perhaps a few people are stranded on them, like we're stranded here. Who knows? He glanced at the gentle waves. "It's so peaceful here now… I like places like this. I spent days on islands with beaches like this one when I was a sailor and on leave… meeting friendly natives."

Jim smiled. "Female, of course. With scarce clothing I guess?"

Artie chuckled. "Very scarce… like leaves skirts only and sometimes just flower necklaces, that's all." His cheeks flamed, and he scratched his stubbled jawline awkwardly. "You know on those Islands reigns the biggest sexual freedom... Some people think those places are paradisiacal."

Pulling a skewer of grilled fish out of the small fire Jim nodded. "I'm not sure they could say that again after a tempest. Half of the trees are unrooted around the cove and hundreds of coconuts are lying in the sand – and it's not a bad thing, we just need to pick them up now."

Smiling Artie said, "And we just have to use the rudimentary axe I made with a stick, thongs made of liana and a piece of sharp rock, to crack them open."

Smiling too, Jim said. "Always the inventor, maybe you should build…" he abruptly stopped, feeling the ground tremble under his feet.

The two men jumped and exchanged a worried gaze. "Earthquake," Artemus said.

Then they both looked at the dark cone-shaped form of the volcano: a wisp of smoke was escaping from it, slowly ascending into the deep blue sky.

Feeling a second shake, more violent, Jim said, "Long-dead volcano – no more. I think the next thing you're going to build Artie, is a raft to get away from here."

Frowning in concern, Artie nodded. "Good idea. I will make new axes. But I won't make a raft, Jim, it would take too long, and every minute counts, I'm afraid. That volcano is awaking, and I don't want to be here – and neither do you– when it erupts. I will make a dugout fitted with outriggers for increased stability in the ocean. We should start at dawn tomorrow."

Jim nodded. "At dawn, then."

WWW

 _Day 3 after the shipwreck_

 _The next day, and night_

It took almost all morning to the men to look for the ideal tree to be brought down to make a dugout. It had to be big, straight and strong, but soft enough to be hollowed out, and near the beach, not to haveto drag the heavy dugout over a great distance.

They chose a second tree,a smaller one, for the outrigger.

It took the whole afternoon to cut the trees with their axes, changing them often, as the 'blades' broke easily hitting the trunk.

Fortunately Artie had made a dozen of them.

It was sunset when they stopped – completely exhausted, and headed to the place among the rocks on the beach where they bivouacked.

Barely standing on his legs, Artie slumped to the cool sand, against 'his' rock. "I prepared fish fillets. They're on the flat rock," he said.

Nodding, Jim gathered the said fish that the very hot sun and the heat had dried. He gave five to his best friend and kept five for him.

He sank limply to the ground and wolfed down a first dried fillet hungrily, while watching a steaming cloud hung above the volcano's crater. "Not so paradisiacal now," he said between two mouthfuls. "This place will be worse than hell soon… at this rate. That cloud up there is becoming larger by the hour… the eruption could happen anytime now…" There was a new tremor and a couple of palm trees fell into a large crevasse which had just appeared. "We should hurry… I know that we are very tired you and I but…"

Eating a second fillet Artie nodded. "You're right. Let's bring torches there and you can start hollowing lout the dugout in the trunk. In the meantime, I 'm going to finish the outrigger and the paddles. As you know I used bits of the debris of the _SS Virginia_ to make them."

The ground shook and quaked again. "Let's go back to work!" Jim said.

Five minutes later, Jim and Artemus had planted torches in the sand, all around the large trunk, the paddles and the outrigger and they went back to work.

His arms and legs burning, James hollowed out the dugout in the trunk, little by little, and Artie finished the outrigger and the paddles, as the volcano groaned and the ground rumbled beneath their feet.

It was dawn when they collapsed to the sand, drunk with exhaustion, but the dugout was ready, the outrigger was fastened to the sides of the main hull with lianas and the paddles were inside.

They exchanged a proud smile.

It abruptly vanished from their strained and stubbled faces when the volcano suddenly erupted with a thunderous boom.

Artemus's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "We should hurry," he just said as enormous clouds of steam and debris were raised into the sky.

Tbc.


	2. Part Two

**THE NIGHT OF THE SHIPWRECK**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **PART TWO**

 _Day four after the shipwreck_

Shortly after Jim and Artie, adrenaline pumping in their veins, were paddling and sailing furiously in rough water, forgetting fatigue, aching limbs, and their hands torn up by the axe handles. They paddled as fast as they could, in order to escape the dark-gray, thick, toxic, and deadly cloud of ash which, after rising very high above the volcano, was falling toward the ocean, pushed by strong and whirling winds. Plus, there were huge bits of lava flying everywhere up in the sky, dropping then in the ocean all around them – missing them completely, fortunately - with deafening booms, producing huge sprays of water and very big waves afterward.

Fortunately for them too, the wind started blowing in the opposite direction, pushing the deadly cloud away and only immense, endless blue was ahead of them, now . The dugout was very stable and solid and it resisted the big waves, riding them effortlessly.

Pieces of lava continued falling from the sky, dousing the two men with water as they hit the ocean very close – too close for comfort, Jim thought.

Lowering his paddle to his knees, Artie watched the explosive eruptions in total fascination: the erupting columns of red-orange magma were being thrown high into the air accompanied by very loud blasts. Shifting into scientist mode, he said, "It's a Strombolian eruption, Jim, one of the least dangerous types of eruptions. Named for the Italian volcano Stromboli. It's a good thing for the island. It's not going to be destroyed, just a little damaged by the basaltic pyroclasts: ash, lapilli, volcanic bombs, volcanic blocks and scoria that travel in parabolic paths before landing around the crater and sometimes beyond… and it was the case here. The lava flows coming from such a volcano, are relatively viscous and don't go very far, solidifying rapidly. After the eruption, a new cone appears, made with those basaltic pyroclasts… Strombolian eruptions are characterized by explosive and short-lived eruptions… The volcano is going to calm down in a matter of hours…We could go back to the island, when everything's over."

Not sharing his partner's apparent desire to go back to the island, even with a sleeping (again) volcano, Jim frowned. "I'm not going back there. It's too dangerous. It could wake again tomorrow or in a week and this time, it could kill us. You don't know."

Artie nodded tiredly. "Okay," he said weakly. Dark spots danced in front of his eyes, and his limbs were burning, aching and like ton weights.

Jim gasped in alarm when he saw Artie sitting in the front collapse to the side… and recovered the floating paddle his best friend had dropped. He put it inside the dugout, like his, and carefully headed toward the other man, passed out in utter exhaustion.

He gently lay Artie down between the paddles and noticed that Artemus's wound was bleeding again. Too much effort had broken the stitches.

He immediately opened the bag Artie had placed at the end of the dugout, next to his bench, and pulled out the half-full bottle of rum, the box containing the hooks and the fishing line and the knife.

He finally realized that cleaning Artie's wound and re-stitching it had to wait until the ocean was calm enough to do that.

Like in a dead calm.

He placed the different things back in the bag and slid a rolled hammock under his partner's head. "It's going to be okay Artie," he said. Then he paddled again at the steersman's place.

Gradually the volcano calmed down.

WWW

 _Much later_

Dead calm.

Using the second hammock (he had soaked with seawater), covering much of the dugout, Jim had made a makeshift tent to protect Artemus from the merciless scorching sun and keep him relatively cool.

Before that he had unstitched the wound, disinfected it with the rest of the rum and had re-stitched it – while Artemus was sound asleep. He hadn't noticed anything.

His throat parched, feeling hot, like burning-hot, Jim took a sip of water – just one. Artie had embarked a dozen of ex-bottles of rum, now filled with water, but they didn't know how long they would spend at sea before seeing a ship or land, he thought. They had to ration. As for the food, they could fish using the insects Artie used to fish, which he had placed in a canvas bag found on the beach, he added in his mind.

He looked around him at the vastness of the ocean, squinting his eyes against the brightness and let out a heavy sigh torn between hope and despair. If they came out alive, it would be a miracle… but they had survived worse situations than drifting in open water, he reflected.

He wiped perspiration off his forehead and re-started paddling in the blue water, in no particular direction, just ahead, away from the island. His already reddened skin was burning even more thanks to the sun and the its refracting off the water.

He could feel the sun searing into his skin.

He paddled for hours, but progressively exhaustion took its toll and his movements slowed down, becoming sluggish.

His skin burning, his muscles burning, he dropped the paddle at his feet and somehow managed to curl on himself in the dugout.

He was fast asleep a split second later.

WWW

 _Much later_

It was sunset, when a loud thud, and the dugout being pushed on the side, woke Jim with a start. He pulled himself into a sitting position and looked around him, confused and disoriented. He gasped seeing… a whale gently swimming along the right side of the boat, eying him with intense curiosity. Amazed he just stared at the enormous animal.

Opening his eyes , Artemus moved into a sitting position too and grunted. "Ow! I should have made the boat more comfortable…" He folded the hammock, turned around and looked up at Jim, sitting on the steersman bench, eyes wide open and agape. "What?"

Pointing at the whale Jim said, "We have a visitor…"

Moving to the side of the dugout, Artie's jaw dropped. He remained stunned for a whole minute, froze, gaping, then beaming, he reached out… touching the wet skin of the whale. "It's a whale!… it's a humpback whale, to be precise. They are easy to recognize: head and lower jaw are covered with knobs… they have a hump, of course, a black dorsal and very long pectoral fins and long black and white tail fin…" He stood up and observed the animal. "It's really big, so I would say it's a female, as males are smaller." He knelt in the dugout and ran a hand over the whale's skin, grinning like a child in a toy store. "It's a beautiful creature… it's not the first time I've seen one, I saw hundreds of different whales when I was a sailor, all around the world. But it's the first time of seeing one so close, the first one I can touch and caress…" the whale's skin was firm but flexible at the same time, somewhat elastic, smooth and rough because of shells stuck here and there. He continued his lecture, "Whales are air-breathing mammals who must surface to get the air they need. She saw us, she was curious and she came to say hello… "

Copying Artie, Jim stroked the whale, not reassured… the animal still staring at Artemus and him. She was friendly, but he asked, "She's not going to eat us, right?"

Artie chuckled. "No, Jim; humpback whales eat mostly krill and small fish. They're harmless and very intelligent creatures." He frowned angrily. "Whaling should be banned. It's absolutely barbaric! We have kerosene as fuel and lubricant; we don't need oil from whales…"

Jim nodded. "I agree…"

Seeing that the whale was going underwater, he employed his paddle at top speed to avoid being crushed and started to move the dugout away.

Jim did the same, watching, like Artie, the immense black and white tail rise in the air… then the whale plunged into the darkening water.

Sitting his paddle on his knees Jim glanced at his best friend, still grinning blissfully. "I'm sure she came for you, buddy. You have a special thing with animals, dogs, cats, horses, birds and now whales… They must sense, somehow that you are an animal lover."

Landing the paddle at his feet, Artemus nodded. "That's possible." He glanced around him. The sun was setting over a calm ocean and only the lapping of water against the boat was breaking the utter silence. "We're lost at sea, Jim." He smiled then, and added, optimistically, "But we'll pull thought this. We have survived more dire situations in the past, and this one will be no exception to the rule." He looked up at the starry sky. "It's going to be a beautiful night. The ocean is quiet, and there's no tempest coming." His stomach growled. "Let's eat some of the grilled fish I packed in big leaves."

Taking the big bag, Jim asked, "Is there anything you don't know something about, Artie?"

Rubbing his hairy chin pensively Artemus finally said, "Yes, politics and women. Those are mysteries to me." Then he laughed.

WWW

 _The next morning_

 _Day five after the shipwreck_

Seagull cries.

Eyes fluttering open, Jim saw seagulls flying in the bright blue sky above the dugout and he blinked, very surprised. "Seagulls?" he said. "But…seagulls mean…"

He moved into a sitting position and gasped in surprise, seeing that the dugout was stranded on a sandbank… and beyond that sandbank he recognized 'Gordon's Bay', almost intact.

The current had brought them there, he realized. The volcano's cone was different, more conical than before and dark-gray with the basaltic pyroclasts. The jungle was destroyed by half, and the remaining half was covered in ash. The long curved beach was partially dark with tons of material ejected by the volcano – from huge blocks to small stones - and lots of palms trees were uprooted – or missing.

He shook Artie's shoulder, still sleeping at the bottom of the dugout, on his side to take the least room possible in the boat and said, "Artie wake up!"

Immediately, Artie jerked awake and sat up in the dugout. "What? There's a ship?" Then he spotted the island and opened his eyes wide, bewildered. "What? But we…"

"Left this place yesterday, at dawn, quite in a hurry as I recall," Jim finished. He added, "I think strong currents brought us back here."

Smiling Artie nodded. "I'm not disappointed to be back here. I prefer to be stranded on an island than lost at sea dying of dehydration… I was right, the island is little damaged." The rumble of thunder resounded and even at that distance, miles and miles away, they could see lightning flashing across the sky, illuminating the bank of very big dark-gray clouds. "Another tempest is coming."

Frowning in concern Jim said, "And the cliff where the cave was is nowhere to be seen. We won't be able to shelter from the tempest inside."

Glancing at all the debris covering a good part of the beach – some as high as small houses, Artemus said, "Let's build a shelter in that chaos… We have enough material here to build one quite quickly. The tempest shouldn't be here for hours. We have time."

His face somber Jim nodded. "I admire your pragmatic side, Artie, but another eruption could happen, it's not excluded. It's not safe to stay here… and it's not safe either to leave the island again with a tempest on its way here."

Smiling Artie took his paddle. "James-my-boy, be positive. I'll bet that all ships on this side of the ocean have seen this eruption and heard it too – even people on the continent, I'm sure - and they will come here to see what happened. We are in the right place to be saved. But it could take some time… we might as well wait for them in a nice shelter."

WWW

 _In the evening_

Thunder still growled in the distance, getting closer. Lightning flashed again.

Keeping an eye on the approaching tempest, they spent hours building a small shelter, with just enough room for two, on the edge of what remained of the thick forest.

They had found huge blocks of solidified basalt, forming a U shape to start with, then they had added a wall made with basaltic pyroclasts, left an opening for the door and to let the smoke of the camp fire escape; after that they had added a conical roof supported by a central pole (a small tree trunk), and a roof made with long branches attached together with lianas and covered with layers and layers of palm leaves, weighted with pieces of plate-shaped basalt. Artemus stuck the ends of the hammocks in the wall, when they built it, so they could sleep comfortably inside.

They had just enough time to harpoon a few fish before the tempest hit the island full force. But, fortunately, the strong gushes of wind were breaking on the volcanic rock mass surrounding them and protecting them. The solid roof was holding and not a single drop of rain managed to pass through the layers of palm leaves accumulated on top of the shelter.

WWW

 _Later_

Artemus was the first to test his hammock while Jim started a fire, chasing the smoke away with his hand and the help of the whirling wind.

He was exhausted – and his wound was itching and burning. But, fortunately, the stitches were holding, he thought, as he closed his eyes.

Heavy rain splattering against the roof in dull thuds lulled him to sleep.

Placing the branch, filled with fish, into the flames, Jim said, "I love fish but I would give anything to eat a large, juicy steak."

Eyes still closed, Artemus smiled. "Don't look at me Jim. I can't prepare you that. We're marooned on a desert island, remember?"

Jim looked outside, through the opening. "Yes, I know." A torrential downpour was pelting against the front side of the shelter, entering it a little, soaking the sand there. There was another flash of lightning, a roll of thunder following it immediately. "Yeah."

Opening his eyes, Artie glanced at his best friend. "They will come. The eruption of that volcano was the best bonfire – ever!" He pulled himself into a sitting position, balancing for a few seconds in the hammock, and then he stood. He sat crossed legged beside the fire and, running a hand through his messy hair, stiff and greasy stared at the flames, absent-mindedly. Then, after a moment he said, "I promise you not to prepare fish for us, for a whole year." He smiled at his best friend. "Just large juicy steaks from now on, Jim." He smiled again. "You know what I'm dreaming of? A long, hot, bath, shampoo and soap and clean clothes – and gallons of coffee!" He looked at his hands, usually impeccable. They were dirty, covered with cuts and bruises, and blistered, the skin raw; his nails were broken and black with grime – like the rest of his sunburnt body. "Once on board the ship coming here for us, one of the many ships - I'll be first in the bathroom, privilege of age."

Rubbing his itching, dark brown stubble, Jim nodded. "Okay, the bathroom is yours first. As for myself I'm dreaming of what you said as well, plus a razor and a shaving soap. And cigars."

Artie nodded. "And brandy."

"Whiskey for me," Jim finished.

Looking at his slowly disintegrating underpants, Artemus added, "In a couple of days, I'll be buck naked, and you too buddy."

Jim chuckled. "Oh! I'm sure that you can make something with leaves and lianas, like a loin cloth. But I don't mind being naked."

Artemus rubbed his brow tiredly and added, "Yeah, me too. I hope that Richmond won't subtract this forced vacation off our next leave… I'll emphasise the word 'forced' the next time we see him." then he pulled out the grilled fish from the fire and handed one well-filled skewer to Jim. "Here, beware, it's hot!"

Lost in his thoughts in his turn, taking it, Jim said, "Thanks."

Pause.

The storm was still raging outside

Detaching pieces of hot fish from the carbonized branch, Artie said, "What is it? Tell me… tell me what's wrong, Jim."

Looking at his best friend with sad eyes, James heaved a long sigh. "When people who expect the _SS Virginia_ realize that she's late, they won't care at first, that kind of thing happens all the time, they will think she's just late. After a week or two, they will realize that a drama is unfolding, that the ship has sunk; somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean and that we are all dead. My parents will think I'm dead, your mother and Harry will think you died too, and when we arrive much, much later ... they will have time to suffer in between ..."

Realizing that too, Artie nodded, his scruffy and weary face grave and somber. "I didn't think about that… you're right. " He patted Jim's arm soothingly and added, "We must also see the good side of things. They will be very surprised and then very happy to see us alive."

Smiling too, Jim said, "Artie the optimist. They will be more than happy, you mean. And President Grant will be very happy too, and he won't send us on an away mission out of the US again – except Mexico, you and I love Mexico - ever."

Artie chuckled. "You know my mum, she won't hesitate to threaten him if he does… and your mum will do that too, I'm sure."

Eating a piece of grilled fish, Jim nodded. Then, after pulling a fishbone from his mouth, he said, "Oh yes!" he smiled. "You know, I just realized something, my parents never met your mum and Harry. We should organize a family reunion after we get back home, in the Wanderer. Something simple, you will prepare all the food of course…" He smirked.

The older man shook his head, "No, not this time. My mother is a far better cook than me and I'm sure she'll insist on preparing everything. The galley will be hers." He stood, swayed on his feet. Every muscle hurt and he stumbled to his hammock, falling limply into it. His face was slack and grey, despite the sunburn. "I've never been dirtier than this, I've never been more tired… even during the war… No, correction, except when I was a spy in Petersburg."

Jim nodded. "Yes, I know. I was the one who cut off what was left of your confederate uniform, got rid of your hole-filled shoes and then cut your filthy long-johns in pieces and dropped them on the floor… The stench almost made me gag."

Artie smiled. "That was after you shot me…" and he automatically touched the place where Jim's bullet had hit him. Lying in the hammock, he closed his eyes. "You know what would be great, Jim? That tomorrow a ship was about to anchor in the bay."

Reaching his own hammock, Jim nodded. "That would be great, yes," he said, lying in his hammock too. "Good night, Artie."

But Artie didn't say anything; he was already sleeping soundly, oblivious to the storm.

WWW

 _The next morning_

 _Day 6 after the shipwreck_

Jim's eyes fluttered open.

He had heard voices – still heard voices. Plural. "What?" he let out stunned. He immediately propped himself up on his elbows and spotted Artie standing outside their basaltic house, talking with two men, one blond, one dark-haired, dressed in uniforms – they were wearing the US Navy frock coat made with dark navy-blue cloth, double-breasted with large, round, golden buttons (nine in each row) and completed with golden epaulettes, one on each shoulder.

He beamed. They were saved! He thought, with utter joy and immense relief.

Rushing out, still grinning, he joined his partner on the beach. "You found us!" he said, then saw an ironclad frigate anchored off the island, and a boat on the beach with four sailors standing beside it, oars erect toward the cerulean sky.

Smiling Artemus gestured toward his partner. "Yes, they did. Gentlemen, let me introduce you to Major James West, special agent of the US Secret Services. He's my partner. (The two officers saluted) and Jim, this is Lieutenant Bell and Lieutenant Monroe, of the _USS Lincoln_."

Reaching out, shaking hands, Jim said, "It's a pleasure to meet you gentlemen. I suppose that Artemus told you the whole story?"

Lt. Monroe, the dark-haired officer nodded. "Yes Sir. We couldn't miss you with such bonfires; I mean the volcano eruption and the real bonfire on the beach."

Bell, the blond Navy Lieutenant added, "You will be pleased to learn, Sir, that we collected aboard two days ago two boats containing survivors of the _SS Virginia_."

Placing a friendly hand on Jim's shoulder Artie nodded. "Camille and Vincent Reed are on board, Jim, they're safe. We're going home."

Jim frowned. "Are you sure it's Camille? There were other women on board."

Monroe blushed and said, "Yes Sir. Miss Mauvais was wearing a pink… almost transparent nightgown with a black and white feather boa when she went on board…"

Artie chuckled. "Convinced?"

WWW

 _Much later,_

 _On board the USS Lincoln_

 _Officers's Bathroom_

His eyes almost closed, half-lidded in ecstasy, Artemus was lounging in steaming, soapy, water, moving up and down in time with the ship's roll, sometimes sloshing over the sides and spilling out onto the floor boards. His long legs were stretched out with his feet resting on the edge of the (fixed to the floor) bathtub, relaxing, feeling his tight muscles begin to loosen up. It was heaven! He thought, listening with half an ear to the battleship sounds and bits of conversation in the corridor.

He had washed himself twice already, to get rid of all the layers of dirt, grime, sand and salt, covering his aching body from head to toe.

He was reaching for the cloth and the bar of _savon de Marseille_ settled on a stool next to the bathtub, for an ultimate cleanse of his sensitive sunburnt skin, when he heard someone running in the corridor and there was a knock at the door.

He froze. "Jim? Is it you buddy?"

The door opened a couple of seconds later and the ex-Mrs. Camille Mauvais entered the small room, dressed in her pink nightgown. Less the feather boa.

Closing the door behind her, she totally ignored Artie's stunned expression and said, "Mmm… very nice chest, Mr. Gordon, and broad shoulders..." She sniffed and smirked. "And you managed to wash the stench off yourself, good! You smell of soap, now, that's a major change. You smelled like the sewers of the prisoner's quarters of Devil's Island when you came on board, and Jim too," she told Artemus, with frankness. She chuckled when she saw the older secret agent cover his crotch with his hands in a hurry. "Speaking of James, I'm looking for him, do you know where I can find him?"

She moved closer and Artie flushed crimson. "Mrs. Mauvais, a Lady doesn't barge into a bathroom when a man is taking a bath!" he said, embarrassed and a bit scandalized.

Camille giggled. "But I'm not a Lady, Mr. Gordon. And it's 'Miss' Barton, again now. My husband is dead, as you know." She sat on the edge of the bathtub and trailed a finger along Artemus's neck, circling his bobbing Adam's apple. "I was _une danseuse de cabaret in Paris_ , when Gustave fell in love with me… and brought me with him to that horrible island. After that he began to lose interest in me, totally obsessed by his prisoners… and I started to have lovers among the guards and prisoners… but Gustave heard about it and he killed them all and locked me in my bedroom. I became one of his prisoners…" She stroked Artie's hairy cheeks. "You need a shave, Mr. Gordon and to wash your hair… I can see sand in it. Let me do this for you… I love to wash hair and shave men, it's relaxing for me and relaxing for them too. I did that to my lovers in Paris… not to Gustave, of course, as he was bald."

Raising a hand out of the not-clear water, Artie placed it on Camille's knee. "I'm a grown man, I can do that all by myself, Camille. Jim was in the officer's mess swallowing gallons of – acceptable – coffee with Lieutenant Monroe, the last time I saw him. Join him there, I'm sure he'll be very glad to see you. Or as he'll come here in a few moments to take a bath too, you can wait for him – in the corridor - Now leave me alone, please."

Camille pouted adoringly, twisting a finger in her blond locks. "I need to relax, Mr. Gordon, _please_. I lived a horrible experience… I was caught in a shipwreck, I saw death in front of me, and I spent days on a boat with nothing to eat and little to drink… That was horrible, traumatic…" She pouted again, fluttering her eyelashes. "I need this to feel better…please?"

Defeated, Artie nodded. "Alright, alright, do it." then he brought back his hand beside the other and added, "Don't look."

Camille chuckled. "You're not different from all the men I knew intimately, Mr. Gordon. But you're shy, I can understand that. – and respect that, and I find it just adorable." She spotted a bottle of shampoo on a shelf and took it. She poured some sandalwood shampoo in her hand and began massaging it through Artemus's messy hair. "It's nice," she said. "You have beautiful hair, dark, thick and soft and curly… Do you like my massage Mr. Gordon?"

Eyes fluttering close, Artie dropped his head back and moaned in pleasure, reveling in the feeling of Camille's fingertips rubbing circles over his scalp.

Camille smiled. "I think so."

Taking a jug on the same shelf, she filled it with some of the bath water. She rinsed Artie's hair and face before repeating the process, massaging his scalp, slower than before, with smooth strokes, and snaked her fingers over his temples from time to time, running small shampooed circles there.

Eyes closed in bliss, Artie smiled and mused: he was happy, Camille was happy – and, it was so good to have a woman take care of him. The last time a woman had shampooed his hair was… he couldn't remember. That was too long ago.

Keeping his eyes closed, he felt his limbs relax in the hot and now soapy and bubbly water. Soaking in warm water was making him sleepy.

He was almost purring like a cat, and was slowly drifting off to sleep when Camille poured water on his head, rinsing. He groaned as shampoo invaded his eyes, stinging them, and he plunged his head underwater. He shook it like a dog does, a few seconds later, sending water everywhere around him… When Artemus raised his head, his curls were flattened to his scalp, he heard a laugh, Jim's laugh.

He wiped the water from his face, and spotted Jim, sitting on a chair beside the door. "Jim! You can have my place, I'm finished, and the water's still warm."

Completely forgetting Camille's presence in the room, as she was standing behind him, silent, focused on his best friend who needed to bathe too, Artemus stood, naked and dripping.

Jim laughed again and took a bath towel from a shelf.

He offered it to his best friend and his eyes twinkling, his expression amused, he said, "I think you forgot someone buddy, think about pink silk and satin…" and waved his head toward a grinning Camille – her cheeks flushed, admiring Artemus's naked, round and firm buttocks.

Drying his hair with the towel, the older man pivoted and… gasped in shock and blushed violently as he discovered the young woman admiring his anatomy – the front part now.

He hurriedly wrapped himself in the towel, grumbling something unintelligible, completely and utterly embarrassed, not red-faced but white-faced.

He left the bathtub, giving Jim his best glare. "You could have told me that before…"

Looking falsely innocent Jim let out, "Oops!"

Moving toward Artemus, Camille ran a calming hand up and down his chest. "I didn't finish with you. You still need a shave…"

Taking Camille's hand in his, Artemus pushed her, gently but firmly toward the door of the bathroom, and after that into the corridor. "Out! Out! Don't come back. See you later – or not!" Then he closed the door, locked it with the latch before she could say something, but had time to catch a new pout on her lips.

Leaning against the door, he noticed Jim's interrogative eyebrows. "She barged in, unannounced, searching for you. She was stressed and washing my hair relaxed her…" he explained, before heading toward the table where white sailor's clothes were folded.

He chuckled. "What? I've just been demoted to simple sailor." He cringed. "I kind of resent that. I'm a Major, I'm an officer."

Jim patted his best friend's arm soothingly. "In the Cavalry, attached to the 'Secret Service Division' of the Department of the Treasury, not in the Navy."

Removing the pajamas that the CMO had given him after the medical examination, Jim stepped in the bathtub and breathed in a deep breath of pleasure as he sank into the nice hot bubbly bath. "I had forgotten what hot water was…" He rested his head against the edge of the bathtub with a deep sigh. "That's wonderful – I officially hate seawater." He grabbed the bar of soap and smelled it, loving its strong but delicate perfume of olive oil and laurel. "I have the same uniform, Artie. Do you believe that Captain Forester will enroll us in the crew until we reach New York? Because I'm pretty good with a gun, not with ropes and rigging – you, on the other hand, you are. Once a sailor, always a sailor."

Putting on clean long-johns, Artie couldn't help but smile blissfully. "Aah! That feels so good… it's clean, it's soft and it smells of soap. There's no sand and no salt. I feel more human somehow."

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Frowning, upset, Artie said, "Stay outside Camille. This place is forbidden to women."

Lieutenant Bell's voice resounded. "It's Lieutenant Bell, Sirs."

Smiling, Artemus unlocked the door, opened it and Camille pushed him to one side, holding a pile of clothes in her arms.

Once inside, she turned round, blew a kiss to the young officer – embarrassed – said 'thank you" and added, "I brought you some clothes, Jim."

Monroe chose to retreat under Artie's glare of promised death.

Pivoting, Artie discovered Camille pouring water on top of Jim's shaggy hair, using the jug. He rolled his eyes and capitulated. "Okay, Camille, you win. You can wash Jim's hair and shave him – and then you'll shave me." He stroked his hairy cheeks pensively, "unless I keep my one-week stubble… I could let it grow and have a nice beard, like the President…"

Camille grimaced. "You will look older and ugly, like the President. Forget it!... But a thin moustache… We'll see about that later." And she poured shampoo in her hand and began massaging Jim's scalp covering it with a mound of bubbles.

Feeling good, Jim let out a contented sigh.

The end.


End file.
